Page 46 of The Wrong Heart

This is stupid. Call an Uber.

Hesitation seizes me, and I close my eyes.

Stupid or not, I do it anyway, because the alcohol and anguish are screaming at me to drive, telling me that nothing fucking matters.

Nothing. Fucking. Matters.

I step on the gas and peel out of the parking lot, tires and heart screeching in my ears. My vision is blurred by the downpour and pool of tears coating my eyes, headlights resembling little lightsabers as they zoom past me. Grasping for a semblance of reason, I jerk the steering wheel onto a desolate dirt road and take the long way home in an effort to stay away from other vehicles. It’s just me and my sadness now, fighting off rainclouds and regret.

As I speed down the deserted road, gravel kicks up, clanking against steel, and a tall tree comes into a view a quarter-mile up. It’s big and solid. The impact would be devastating.

It probably wouldn’t even hurt.

My shoe pushes on the gas pedal, the engine revving and careening towards the tree.

You’re a wicked girl.

I hate you.

I wish it were you.

Her cruel words push me forward, and I scream out, loud, hysterical, desperate, gaining speed, getting closer…

And then I feel a shift. My thoughts mutate into something else.

I can almost make out an orchestra of violins playing in the distance.

I feel water lap at my skin as I dance in the murky lake.

I hear my father’s laughter rumble through me asUnchained Melodysings through the record player.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I slam on the brake so hard, the car spins out, tires squealing out of control, until I come to an abrupt stop, half-stuck in a muddy ditch.

I’m not ready.

I’m not ready.

I’m not ready.

My frantic breaths mingle with the sound of rain against glass, and I feel a breakdown crawling up my throat, ready to combust.

So, I do what I’ve been trained to do.

I call Amelia. I reach out to my Lifeline.

My fingers are violently shaking as I scroll through my contacts, eyes stinging with hot tears. I’m weeping, wilting, as I call her number over and over again.

Straight to voicemail.

No.

An ugly cry tears through me, frustration mixing with fiery rage, and I think about contacting my parents.

West. Leah.

Zephyr.

But…God, I can’t. I can’t let them know how broken I still am. I can’t let them see me like this, so pathetic and lost, so stripped down to almost nothing.

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